| Monitoring |
[12 Sep 2007|12:07am] |
Logan couldn’t believe his luck.
Not only had be finally remembered to shave – not that anyone could tell, as quickly as his facial hair grew back – but his editor gave him the rest of the week off. Sort of surprising, considering the developing story of a Vegas police officer arrested for murder, but Logan wasn’t about to complain.
Besides, it would probably be weeks before an autopsy could be done on Gerald Watkins’ body and for charges to be officially filed, so it was probably wise for Logan to take a break now. Only he wasn’t really on a break, cause he still had to research this Order of Zeus thing, an apparent vampire cult bent on protecting the child of the Slayer – the Chosen Child – so he could grow up and fulfill some prophecy.
Yeah, like Logan never read a prophecy forecasting Armageddon before.
His cell phone rang suddenly, startling Logan a bit and interrupting his lunch. He grabbed the phone and flipped it, sighing when he saw the digits on caller ID.
He knew exactly who this was, and it wasn’t entirely unexpected.
“Logan here,” he spoke into the receiver, trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. This was not looking to be a fun conversation.
( Quoting Webster )
[NPC Rupert Giles written by Paul.]
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| Office Politics |
[12 Sep 2007|01:44pm] |
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Under Pressure - Queen |
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As expected, the next couple of days were a nightmare. The newspapers were full of the news of the Blanchard arrest, and Michaela had to dodge news crews just to get into the precinct building. When Donna Upchurch of KNTV approached her with a microphone, it was all the detective could do to politely say 'No comment' and not bark at the woman to get the hell out of her way. 13 Action News was just going to have to get in line for their dose of scandal along with everyone else.
Compared to the outside of the building, the inside was very quiet, despite the chatter of uniformed officers as they came and went, the clacking of computer keys, and the occasional catcall from the holding cells. Here she was Detective Starnes instead of Michaela, and sometimes just Starnes. She had always tried to keep the job in the office, and the person she was within these walls was much different than the woman who drove her children to school and to their sporting events. She waved to Sergeant Gaither on her way past his desk, and he lifted his coffee cup in a mild salute.
"Coroner's report is on your desk," he said. "And the DA has already called three times this morning."
( Duty Calls )
"I'll call the second I have anything concrete," the detective said, and she and Parsons said stilted good-byes before she hung up. She'd run those two names through the national database, then call CPS to see if Cory Watkins was faring well. Maybe she'd finally go ahead and set up an appointment for the boy to see a psychiartrist. He was doubtlessly going to need one.
This was going to be a very bad day.
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| Coroner: Penn. Man Shot |
[12 Sep 2007|02:10pm] |
By Logan Guevera | lguevera@ccbeacon.com
LAS VEGAS -- The autopsy report for Gerald Watkins was released by the Las Vegas coroner's office Tuesday, revealing the Pennsylvania native was shot four times in the stomach at close range.
"It was tough to tell at first," coroner Jules Davidson said. "There's really no way to tell how long Mr. Watkins had been dead, but once I dug deeper during the autopsy, it became abundantly clear."
No murder weapon has been found, though Davidson said the bullets looked as if they could have come from a police-issued .38-caliber handgun.
Las Vegas homicide detective Samantha Blanchard was arrested Sunday night after authorities searched her place off an anonymous tip. Officers discovered Watkins' body in the trunk of Blanchard's car, which has since been impounded as evidence. Though murder charges have not officially been filed against Blanchard, Las Vegas district attorney Mac Parsons said it was only a matter of time.
"We're working close with the Las Vegas police on this matter," he said in a brief statement. "I will not allow an officer of the law to get away with actions such as these. Ms. Blanchard will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law."
Parsons is expected to make a bid for re-election in the 2012 races.
Repeated attempts by The Clark County Beacon to reach the Las Vegas police department for comment were unsuccessful Tuesday, as no one wished to offer comment.
Watkins, 34, was the adoptive father of Blanchard's son, Cory. It's believed he came to Vegas to return Cory to his mother, only details beyond that are fuzzy and unverifiable. Cory has since been placed under Child Protective Services.
Despite rumored ties with Wolfram & Hart, Blanchard is currently without legal counsel. The law firm, which had its Las Vegas and Philadelphia branches communicating over Watkins' disappearance before his body was discovered, has made no comment and has shown no signs of supporting the disgraced detective.
Submitted by Jeff.
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| A.Whistler, Attorney-at-Law |
[12 Sep 2007|05:14pm] |
Whistler awoke at the crack of dawn to incessant knocking on the door to his double-wide. He stumbled out of bed, not bothering to dress more than the deadhead t-shirt and boxer shorts he'd crashed in (how Gerald ended up wearing his hat as the gnome stood guard duty outside, Whistler would probably never know). The Agent was greeted by an overly cheerful UPS delivery man with a rectangular box.
He didn't tip.
Inside was a leather briefcase containing transcripts and degree from the University of Michigan Law School, as well as papers declaring that he'd passed the bar. After four attempts.
As well, there was a hotel room key emblazoned with the Bally's logo. Apparently the Powers felt it better if he was a hired gun brought in from out of town to handle Blanchard's case. This also indicated he was in for the haul (minus a side trip to Defiler-ville, no way the Agent was going to miss that fight).
He shook the box again. A credit card fell out. Embossed (as the other documents) was the name 'A. Whistler'. Great, he'd have to come up with a first name. Only two living people knew his real monicker and he preferred to keep it that way.
Whistler waited another thirty minutes to see if someone would deliver him some decent suits.
None came.
He grabbed a shower, packed a duffel (making sure to include his cell phone charger and DVD copy of 'My Cousin Vinny') and, one his way out the door, took back his hat from the ungrateful gnome. "If Rhiannon or Hannah drop by for a visit," he instructed the security system, "tell 'em I'm at Bally's. Everyone else gets the treatment. Okay?"
Gerald stood stoically.
"I'd take ya if I could. But I don't think the judge would accept ya as co-counsel."
Christ. A judge. The Agent had been in front of the law before, but usually to protest his innocence. He hoped the one hearing Samantha Blanchard's case wasn't one he'd met before.
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| Be Here. Be Now. |
[12 Sep 2007|10:53pm] |
The transformation from visitor to occupant of Traslin’s home came quickly for Tyler. There was not much in the house to get use to; the general décor was very basic, with lots of space for a mobile home. But when there was not the standard set of furniture, or TV, or many other things, there was little to take up space. Just bodies and necessities. The memories of living this way as a boy came flooding back to Tyler. It dawned on him that the years that he had spent living in Searchlight and Vegas had permeated his way of life, and slowly he had gotten away from his old way of life.
Tyler had mentioned this to his new instructor. The old man had just grinned in his own way, and tried to turn it into an opportunity to teach. It hadn’t taken Tyler long to realize that Traslin didn’t just teach breathing techniques, meditation, and philosophy. He advocated a way of living, and he tried his best to explain it simply every chance he got.
And Tyler was listening.
They kept a strict schedule. Every morning at five they rose for hours of mediation. Then, if the weather wasn’t too hot, they set to work doing what needed to be done in and around the house. Even though there was little opportunity for anything to acquire dirt, the old man seemed to be somewhat of a neat freak. And there was always something outside that needed cut, dug out, straightened, watered, or tended to. But after the first week, Tyler was already getting accustomed to the slower pace of Traslin’s simple life.
The afternoons were left open, and Tyler didn’t question why. After dinner, they would go for a walk, trying to find a new path each night. When they returned, they would again sit for a few hours in meditation, serenaded by the soft song of crickets and cicadas. If they were lucky, a coyote would howl off in the distance.
It was sitting and talking that Tyler found he liked most. Traslin had a way of speaking that was fascinating to the younger man. Rarely did Traslin tell stories; instead he would pick some topic and just talk about it.
One night Tyler was reliving for his mentor a story about Star, and how he had disappeared for 29 nine days. He had been fighting with a warlock at the time, and when he found her down in a park, she set a cactus on fire just by looking at it. He had been a little nervous.
“She took care of me though,” he said with a grin and a far away look. “Man, when I got to her I was hurting so bad I could barely breathe. And by the time she was done…” His voice trailed off.
( Where are you Tyler? )
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